Blood Seekers
by Solus Tal'echoy
Summary: I have always wanted to do a story about mandalorian vampires, so here it is! My very own parallel to the Republic Commando Backstory. This is my first fanfic, so reviews are greatly appreciated. Rated K but it might go up. Chapter 8 is finally here!
1. Blood

Blood Seekers

_Disclaimer: I do not own Kal Skirata, Jaller Obrim, etc. They belong to Karen Traviss and George Lucas. The only things I own are Trav and Solus and the term Tal'echoy._

Jaller Obrim stared at the case reports. People were disappearing all over and turning up dead, their bodies drained of blood. Any DNA on the corpses never came up as any species on record. His men were coming up empty, and his requests for more resources were being buried in red tape. Jaller needed backup, someone who didn't answer to bureaucrats. He dialed a comm code, "Kal? It's Jaller. I've case, but it's going cold. I need your brand of expertise." 

Trav Tal'echoy stood quietly to the side as the head of CSF explained the situation to Kal Skirata. The man reeked of desperation. Jaller Obrim turned to look at him. "I understand you're a friend of Kal's, correct?"

Trav nodded and removed his helmet. "Trav Tal'echoy; from your description of the bodies, I believe that I would be the most qualified to help."

Kal nodded, "Good, then I'm not going _ordiniisla_ to set loose a _tal'echoy_ on Coruscant."

Trav grinned, showing pointed white teeth, "You'd be _ordiniisla_ not to. It takes a _tal'echoy_ to find a _tal'echoy._ Otherwise it just finds you."

Jaller looked confused, "_tal'echoy_? That's Mandalorian, right? What does it mean?"

Now it was Kal's turn to smile, "It means 'blood seeker,' in your terms, a vampire. 

Trav and Kal sat in their safe house, Kal scanning the plaza far below, while Trav sat well away from the window, sharpening a special silverite-_beskar_ alloy _beskad._ He had gotten much amusement from the way Jaller Obrim's eyed had bugged out when Kal mentioned vampire. "_So you're saying that we're trying to kill an immortal blood-sucking monster? Who is immortal? I don't think I can stress the immortal bit enough."_

Kal looked up from the scope of his verpine rifle, "Remind me why I'm doing this. Our guy isn't going to walk down the street- in broad daylight, mind you- with a giant sign saying 'I'm an insane bloodthirsty monster, shoot me now'"

"No, but he knows that he is being searched for, so if he thinks we're idiots, he'll get careless, more careless than he already is if he's leaving bodies around. You're 'monitoring' is a distraction so that I can catch him unawares."

"That makes me feel so much better."

"You sound like you doubt my ability to kill things, I'm hurt."

"Oh, shut up, when do we start hunting?"  
Trav held up his _beskad_, turning it so that the light glinted off of its razor- sharp edge, "Tonight." 

It was the dead of night when Trav and Kal ventured out of the safe house into the lower parts of the city, both of their helmets in blackout mode. After a little while, Trav took off his helmet and sniffed the air. "He's close, and he has a victim," His eyes widened, "A young one." Trav took off in the direction of the scent. Kal swore and went after him.

Trav could smell the overpowering scent of blood, making his mouth water in spite of himself. He clamped down on his hunger and drew his _beskad_, signaling to Kal to pull out his verpine. Trav caught sight of the creature; its back was turned to the two hunters, its mouth buried in the throat of a small boy. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kal take aim and fire, a perfect head. The vampire whirled, dropping the boy, who groaned weakly. A piece of the creatures head was missing, but then bone and skin seemed to stretch over the wound until it was completely whole again. The vampire advanced on Kal in the blink of an eye and landed a calculated shove which sent the man flying. While the thing was distracted, Trav moved behind him and plunged his blade through its chest. The creature screamed an unearthly sound which seemed to echo through Trav's entire body. Ignoring the dark blood covering his armor, he immediately picked up the dying boy. The boy was still alive, but barely, and unless he took drastic measure, would not survive. Kal had regained consciousness, but was limping badly. Trav barely noticed. He drained the boy, and then sliced open his own arm, holding it over the boy's mouth, willing him to drink. As he felt his blood leaving his body, he said softly, "_Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad_, Solus Tal'echoy."

_Next chapter as soon as I can find time to write it. Reviews are appreciated._


	2. Memory

_**Disclaimer:** I do not own Kal Skirata or the Star Wars universe.  
_

Trav hadn't even gone with Kal to debrief to Jaller Obrim. He'd taken Solus, who was still unconscious, to his ship, the _Hunter_. He'd laid him down in the bunk in the small cabin, the prepped the ship for the hyperspace jump to Mandalore. He wasn't really surprised when his comlink beeped. It was Kal.

"Where's the boy?" Kal asked.

"You mean Solus? He's sleeping," Trav braced himself. Doubtless the boy's biological parents were still alive, wondering if their son had been killed like the others. It didn't matter; Trav had no intention of giving him back.

"Trav, the boy's name is Jareth Skanter, his parents are still alive. He's not an orphan; you can't just take him and run off like this! What am I going to tell Jaller? More importantly, what is he going to tell the parents?"

"Tell him that the boy was unharmed, but ran off. Or tell him that he died. Or tell him that there wasn't any boy down there. It doesn't matter. If I hadn't turned him, he'd be dead. I'm the only one who can raise him now. Do you think his parents would want him back in this state?"

There was silence on the other end. Trav heard Kal sigh, "I don't like it. I can see your point, but I don't like it. It feels too much like something that old sith of yours would do."

Trav couldn't contain himself, "That sith would've simply killed Solus's parents. If Solus wasn't force-sensitive, that sith wouldn't have bothered to save him! All Graft wanted was an apprentice, someone who he could be superior to. _Never_ compare me to him again." He shut the comlink off angrily, then sat back and tried to relax. Kal's comment had hit too close to home, and had brought back unwanted memories. Trav had been only 10 when the vampiric sith lord, Graft, had killed his parents and taken Trav. The man had him for four years, turned into a vampire, tried to make him into a sith, before Trav had killed him with a sharpened piece of silverite while he slept.

But Kal had made a point, even though he had never actually said it. Solus would never accept him as a _buir _if he knew his biological parents were still alive. Despicable as Graft was, he had taught Trav some useful things, like how to alter memories. Trav would have to change Solus's memory of the whole event, make him think that his parents had died by same vampire that almost killed him. Trav touched the Force, touched the power that he so rarely used, and entered Solus's mind.

_**A/N:** Yay for chapter 2! Sorry for the delay, I had a book I had to finish for school. Trav ain't as much the good guy is he? Next chapter when I think of what to write. R&R please!_


	3. Names

_**Disclaimer:** I don't own Star Wars, period. If I did, there would be vampires in it.  
_

They were in hyperspace when Solus woke up. Trav was sitting next to the bunk, just in his bodysuit, without the plates. No sense in scaring the boy overmuch. When Trav had been rummaging through Solus's memories, he had also taken the liberty of implanting _mando'a_ in his mind.

Trav watched as Solus sat up with a quiet groan. "How do you feel?" he asked.

"Hungry," Solus answered. He certainly looked like it. He looked pale and drawn.

Trav nodded, "I'll get you what you need." He went to the refrigeration unit. He was about to grab a bag of human blood, then hesitated, and instead chose bantha blood. Not as filling, but easier to start him off on. He heated it up in a bottle and handed it to Solus. "Drink this, you'll feel better."

Solus took the bottle and took a wary sip, then gulped it down greedily. Color gradually returned to his face. But when he put down the bottle, his eyes were wide with fear. "Blood? How did I just drink blood? When I tasted it… I couldn't stop myself… What am I?"

Trav sat back down with his own flask of blood and sipped it. "You are a _tal'echoy_, a vampire. I turned you to save your life. Do you remember what happened?"

Solus's brow forrowed, "I remember the monster… it was feeding from me… it… it killed Mom and Daddy…" he broke down then and started to sob. Trav gathered Solus into his arms, and the small boy buried his head in Trav's chest. Trav inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. His alterations had worked. Kal would say it was cruel, but in the long run, this would cause less pain.

"It's alright, Solus. You're not alone anymore," Trav said quietly.

Solus wiped his nose and looked up at Trav. "What did you call me?" he asked.

"I called you Solus. Wouls you prefer I not? Would you prefer I call you Jareth instead?"

Solus looked thoughtful, "Jareth was what my parents called me, but…" he looked away, then looked back at Trav, "I'm not really Jareth Skanter anymore, am I?" Trav marveled at his level of emotional maturity. "I mean, Mom and Daddy, they didn't really like things that were different. I don't think they'd have liked me like this. Maybe it's better if I was Solus now. "He laid his head back on Trav's chest, "I like the sound of it. It feels safe." Trav could feel him falling asleep.

"Fair enough," Trav murmured, "Welcome to clan Tal'echoy, Solus."

_**A/N:** Don't worry, we'll see Kal again, and Jango, in the next chapter. R&R please!_


	4. Promises

_**Disclaimer:** Don't own Jango, Kal, Mandalore, etc. Do own Trav and Solus._

Trav could sense people approaching the house, even before Solus, who was now fifteen, came in and said, "Kal's coming, he doesn't know I've spotted him though," he grinned, "he's got Fett with him. What did you do to attract the _Mand'alor's_ attention?"

Trav sighed. He knew that grin. Solus had developed a wicked sense of humor over the past few years, his tricks usually involving creative use of holoprojectors. Trav looked out a viewport, and couldn't help but be amused to see Kal Skirata and Jango Fett being harassed by a group of very realistic looking holograms of Kowakian monkey-lizards. He was about to tell Solus to shut it off when he saw Jango take aim and fire at something above their heads.

Solus saw this too and blanched. "I'll go check the projector," he said, and jumped up through the armored trapdoor on the roof that he had just come in from. Trav was slightly jealous of his son's agility. He needed both his vampirism and his Force-sensitivity combined to make the kinds of jumps that Solus did with ease. He walked outside, "_Su'cuy gar_, Kal, what brings you here?" He nodded to Jango, "_Mand'alor."_

Kal had and uncharacteristically cowed look on his face, and was silent, also unlike him. It was Jango who spoke. "I have an offer you might be interested in."

All three of them were startled when Solus seemed to materialize next to Trav. "You really did a number on this, _Mand'alor_," he said, indicating the charred remains of the holoprojector, "it'll take weeks to repair!"

"Solus," Trav said, without taking his eyes off Jango, "the _Mand'alor_ and I need to have a little talk, privately."

Solus sobered at once. He gave a quick nod, then turned back to the house.

Jango waited until Solus had shut the door, then spoke, "I'm recruiting people to serve as training sergeants, and I need someone with your -particular- talents; someone who can train troops to be the best of the best."

Trav looked at Kal, "I suppose he talked you into this as well?" Without waiting for Kal's answer, he turned back to Jango, "You do realize, of course, that my particular talents come with particular requirements? Somehow I doubt your employers will be stocked with human blood."

"Trust me, all your needs will be taken care of. But you'll have to disappear, for years; no outside contact."

"How much do I get paid?"

"One million credits."

Trav considered this. "I'll have to think about it."

Jango nodded as if he had expected this, "I'll come back in two standard days. Have you answer ready by then." Both he and Kal left. Trav watched them go until they sped off in Kal's speeder. He wondered briefly why Jango had brought Kal along, and why Kal was so unnaturally subdued. He dismissed these thoughts. It didn't matter right now.

When he went back inside, Solus was waiting for him. "So?" he asked, "How confidential is this job offer of Fett's?"

"Top secret, apparently; it's worth one million"

Solus looked extremely intrigued, but didn't press for details. It always gave Trav a stab of guilt to know how completely Solus trusted him. Trav knew deep down that he didn't deserve that trust, not when he had altered Solus's memories, and made him believe his parents were dead. He shoved the feeling away; now was not the time.

"I would have to disappear, no outside contact, for years." Trav said.

Solus raised an eyebrow, "You're not hesitating because you're afraid of leaving me that long, are you?" He shook his head, "I'm not going to be what holds you back from a job like this. Besides," he smiled, "with you away, I'll have less competition for contracts."

Trav couldn't help but chuckle at this. "Alright, and I'm sorry. Sometimes I forget that you're _not_ the small boy I found on Coruscant."

"And I forgive you." His face grew serious again, "But promise me one thing, _buir. _Now matter how long you're gone, promise me you'll come back."

Trav clasped his son's arm, in the traditional Mandalorian handshake, and said "I promise."

_**A/N: **Such an 'aaww' moment. I can't wait for the last chapter, and that's in a good way. I will say no more lest I give something away._


	5. Secrets

**_Disclaimer: _**_Do not own Jango, Kamino, the clone troopers, etc._

Trav stood at an observation window overlooking an enormous chamber. The chamber was filled with incubation units, all with tiny human fetuses inside. Trav could sense their lives, could feel the simultaneous beat of thousands of tiny hearts. It was intoxicating.

He heard Jango walking up behind him.

"I trust everything is in order." Jango said conversationally.

"Aiwha blood isn't exactly to my taste, but I'll live. I hear that Kal is rather unsatisfied, though." Actually, that was an understatement. Kal had nearly blown his top when he found out how the Kaminoans intended to deal with the failed Null-ARC batch. Trav couldn't blame him. He killed beings for a living, but there was something wrong about killing small children. "So I'm to be training commandos then?"

"No," Jango said, "the others are in charge of them. I recruited you for a different purpose. You'll be training the black ops troops."

"Of course, hire the assassin the train the assassins. But tell me, why clone an army to fight for the Republic? You hate the Republic. And don't say it was for the credits, I know you better than that. I know what happened at Galidraan."

Jango was silent. Trav could feel the tension rising off him. Jango spoke quietly, "I'm only one man, and one man can't bring down the _jettii_. Now there's an army of me."

Trav didn't say anything. He didn't have to. The massacre at Galidraan was Jango's burden alone. He and a group of _Mano'ade_ had been ambushed by Jedi, and all of them but Jango had been slaughtered.

"You should get some sleep," Jango said , "training starts tomorrow. And Trav?"

"Yes, _Mand'alor_?"

"This conversation never happened."

_**A/N: **This is kind of a short chapter, I know. I'm sorry it took so long took put it up, but school reared its ugly head and I have to deal with an extra science class and finding teacher recommendations, so it's been hectic_. _I'm currently working on chapter 6, so we shouldn't have as long a wait. I actually had a chapter 5 all written out, but had to scrap it because it didn't fit Trav's character. _


	6. Time

**_Disclaimer:_**_ I don't own anything recognizable from Star Wars. Trav is mine mine mine._

Trav walked up and down the line of cadets. Every one of them had identical features, with identical black fatigues. The only thing distinguishing between them was the I.D. number on their left shoulders. Every one of them was three years old. But the clones aged twice as fast as normal, so biologically, they were six.

"Black ops troops are the unsung heroes of any military force. Great military leaders like to brag about huge armies, but they keep silent about their assassins and spies. But make no mistake; you will be the force that can determine the outcome of any conflict. One sniper round in a Separatist general's head can turn the tide of the war." He paused, then, and stood facing them. "However, until you earn your place in the corps, you are just another grunt in this line. You may have fancier genes that the white-jobs, but your success is an 'if', not a 'when'. Until you prove just how much you're worth, your worth is nothing. Do I make myself clear?"

The cadets spoke as one, "Sir, yes sir!"

Trav motioned to the racks behind him, "The DC-17 is the weapon of choice for all special forces troops. Each you will be issued one now." One by one, all one hundred cadets stepped forward, took forward, took a rifle, and stepped back into line. "This weapon will never leave your hands at any time, until such time as you are transferred from my command. You will eat with this weapon, you will sleep with the weapon, you will visit the goddamn refreshers with this weapon. If you ever put this weapon down, you will lose it, until I have decided you've earned it back. Am I clear?"

"Sir, yes sir!"

"Head to the firing range, double time!"

The cadets obeyed immediately. The firing range was about half a klick away. Trav could make that in a bout a minute, but cadets were young, and only human. It probably would take them closer to seven minutes, so Trav wasn't in much hurry. He waited for the last cadet to disappear down the long hallway, then set off at a brisk run down a more roundabout path. One nice thing about having vampiric powers was that he wouldn't have to worry about his cadets outrunning him.

He had already been waiting for several minutes when the first few trainees came trickling in, panting hard. "Eight minutes and thirty-seven seconds," he stated sternly, when the last trainees arrived, "that's not good enough. Drop down and give me ten push-ups, now!" Trav noted with some measure of satisfaction that none of them had let go of their rifles, yet, anyway. That was good; he would have to push them harder. "You call those push-ups?" He yelled when they had finished, "I could do better than that if I'd been shot in the gut and my intestines were spilling out. Fifteen more, now!" Their chests touched the ground every time.

The firing range consisted of rows of simulator units where trainees fired at targets simulating enemies of various power, size, and distance. His cadets took their places, shooting at the holographs. Trav walked behind them, correcting someone's posture, another boy's grip. Their aim wasn't quite true, and in some cases well off the mark, and the rifles were unwieldy in their small hands, but in time, they would be unstoppable.

**_A/N:_**_ So good to have time to write agin, now that marching season is over! This is also kind of short. I can't really do long eloquent passages like some people can, I'm too math-brained. Chapter 7 is about halfway done, so it shouldn't take too long (I just jinxed myself, didn't I...)_


	7. Orders

**_Disclaimer:_**_ You know the drill. I no own, you no sue._

Five years had passed since the first batch of black ops troops had begun training. Five years of training had formed the remaining men into a disciplined corps of unstoppable snipers, who carried out orders unflinchingly. That is, except for one. One cadet, nicknamed Bik, had developed a tendency to question his orders.

It had started only a few months ago. Bik had been close friends with another cadet, Volt. Volt had lost hold of his rifle during calisthenics, and Trav had made him use a pistol in live-fire exercises. Because of the short range of the pistol compared to the rifle, Volt ended up with a blaster bolt just above his right eye socket. Bik had been devastated, and never really trusted Trav since. Irrational, since Volt wasn't the first to die like that. Twenty-six black ops cadets were dead or reconditioned from the original one hundred. Trav knew that if Bik couldn't obey orders on the battlefield, he wouldn't last an hour. If Trav's plan didn't work, Bik was as good as dead.

The cadets were lined up for morning inspection as usual. "Rifles at ready, firing position!" Trav called to them. Before one second had passed, the front row was lying prone, the middle row was kneeling, and the back row remained standing. Rifles were raised to firing level. Trav pulled forward a clone trooper in red fatigues. He was a white-job, a normal grunt trooper, not Special Forces. "Shoot this man!" Trav called out.

"What?" It was Bik, as expected, "but he's a clone, not a Sep!"

"Did I ask for your opinion? I did not! Fine, if you can't shoot a man when ordered, you can join him up here!" Fast enough that his movements would seem like a blur to humans, Trav moved to the middle row, grabbed Bik by the front of his shirt, and dragged him back to stand beside the trooper. "Belay my original orders, shoot both of them!" Without a murmur of protest, the cadets aimed, half of them at the trooper's head, half at Bik's head. "Fire!"

There was the sound of seventy three guns firing at once, the bright light of muzzle flash, and the faint smell of ozone from the discharged blasters. Bik and the trooper were completely untouched.

As confusion began to show on the clones' faces, Trav turned sharply to face the trooper, "Your assistance was appreciated, trooper, you may return to your unit now."

The noticeably shaken trooper snapped to attention and saluted, "Sir, yes sir, thank you sir!"

Trav turned to face the rest of them, "Bik, stay. The rest you suit up. Your assignment is on your datapads." As the rest of the cadets filed back into barracks, Trav marched back to his quarters, a nervous Bik in tow. As they walked, Trav reflected on the high possibility that sending his black ops cadets to shoot the crazy null ARCs with rubber sniper rounds might piss off Kal Skirata. It was an amusing thought.

They reached Trav's room. Trav again grabbed Bik by the front of his shirt, dragged him in the door, and deposited him on the floor. With his foot planted firmly on Bik's chest, Trav spoke sternly, "Lucky for you, those were blanks. Unlucky for me, since now I have to put up with you for two more years. Make no mistake; you're alive because I'm soft. You think you'd still be here if you were a white-job? The kaminoans would have reconditioned you if I'd let them. And if you question your commanding officer's orders in wartime, it won't be blanks they shoot you with. Right now, you, cadet, are one lucky bastard." Trav could feel Bik's heart racing beneath his boot. Feeling the flow of blood, all of Trav's instincts screamed at him to _feed_. He took his foot off Bik's chest. But before Bik could get up, Trav reached down, pulled him up, and sank his fangs into Bik's throat.

Starved of human blood as he was, it was difficult to not drain Bik dry. For five years, Trav had been sustaining himself on aiwha blood, but that wasn't enough, not for this length of time. Human blood was the best, the most satisfying. It was this way for all vampires; the blood of the parent species was the most nourishing. With extreme effort, Trav pulled himself away from Bik. Forcing his face into an expression of dispassion, he watched as Bik clutched his neck, staring at Trav with a mixture of shock and fear. "That," Trav said hoarsely, "was a warning. You should get that looked at. Check yourself into the infirmary; dismissed." Trav could still feel some spark of pride as Bik, through blood loss and terror, still retained the discipline to snap off a salute before staggering out the door.

"_You should have killed him…"_

Trav jumped, then shook himself. The last thing he needed was to be hearing voices, especially not Graft's voice. His old Sith master was five hundred years dead by Trav's own hand, and still he managed to pop up at inconvenient moments to give bad advice. Of course, Graft had never been very smart, which was likely why Trav had been able to kill him when he was fourteen.

"_He's weak…"_

"Look who's talking, you useless old bat," Trav said exasperatedly to thin air. The only reply was indignant silence.

Suddenly, there was a harsh buzzing noise. Trav jumped again, swore, and flicked a hand at the door. In stormed one Kal Skirata, with a murderous look in his eyes. Still sluggish from the recent feeding, Trav didn't have time to react as Kal swung a fist which connected with his left cheekbone, hard. Only when he actually felt the pain of the blow did he realize that Skirata had a small lump of silver on his knuckle.

"I just passed one of your cadets in the hallway," Kal snarled.

Trav felt his face gingerly, then winced; a broken cheekbone, one that would have to heal at the human rate. Wounds inflicted with silver or silverite could not mend with a vampire's normal accelerated healing factor. "I assume this isn't about me sending my cadets to shoot your null ARCs with rubber sniper rounds," Trav said, dryly.

"You what?" If anything, Kal's anger seemed to get worse. "No, this isn't about that! This is about the _shabla_ bloody bite marks on Bik's neck! What the hell were you-"

"Has it ever occurred to you that you coddle your men too much? I'd have been well within policy to kill him! The Kaminoans wouldn't have been so lenient, nor will his commanders. As things stand, by just scaring him, I probobly just saved his life."

"You fed on him!"

"Oh, what do you want from me, Skirata? I'm a predator, and humans are my prey of choice. You want me to not feed on humans? You might as well try to make a kath hound swear off meat. It doesn't work and it pisses off the kath hound."

Kal shook his head in disgust, then sighed and looked away, "You and Vau both… I keep forgetting you're not human." He looked straight at Trav, and said contemptuously, "We've got two more years in this hellhole, try not to kill any more of your cadets."

**_A/N: _**_Wow, this is officially my longest chapter to date. Chapter 8 is in progress, might be another shorter chapter. We get to see a beloved face from new perspective._


	8. Fear

_**Disclaimer: **You know the drill, I don't own anything except Trav._

It was the day. Training was complete and the _jetiise_ had come to claim their army. Or, more specifically, one _jettii;_ one who fairly crackled with power. Trav could feel his intense presence from his quarters, and was drawn to the landing pad, like a moth drawn to light.

Amid the flurry of motion on the landing pad, Trav might not have seen the jedi master past the all the white armored clones. But there was the force presence, and Trav's own enhanced vampiric perception, and so he picked out the jedi at once: a diminutive green gnome standing next to Orun Wa.

Trav's heart skipped a beat. This was Yoda, the grandmaster of the Jedi order himself. Trav was about to turn and flee back to the safety of his rooms, when he realized that Yoda had turned to face him, was looking straight at him. He found himself rooted to the spot as Yoda slowly hobbled towards him, with a look of suspicious curiosity in his eyes.

When Yoda stood in front of him, Trav was looking down at him. But it didn't feel that way to Trav. To him, it was as if he were craning his neck to look at a giant, unsure of whether he was about to be stepped on.

"Older than you look, you are. And trained in the ways of the force; in the ways of the dark side."

Trav nodded slightly, then realized that Yoda was walking away from the landing pad, towards the sliding glass doors. Then he realized with a shock that he was walking as well, his legs moving of their own accord.

"Understand, do I, that you were a trainer of this army, yes?"

"Just one special detachment; seventy graduating troops, black ops." Damn! Why was he still talking? He should be running the hell away!

There were inside now, out of the pounding rain. Yoda turned to face Trav with a shrewd expression which made Trav shudder. "Tell me, Trav Tal'echoy, how long ago was it, when killed your master, you did?"

"Just over five hundred years ago." How did he know his name?

Yoda just nodded, as if that were the answer he was expecting.

'_He's in your head; he can control you if he wants to…'_

Trav didn't know if that thought belonged to Graft or himself –or both- or even if Yoda could hear it. He wanted to run , but he couldn't. The master's force presence was not simply powerful, it was _wrong_ somehow. Graft's force presence was only fractional compared to Yoda's, but it had always been awash with emotions. The sith channeled the Force through their passions, but the Jedi were taught to suppress them. Compared to what Trav was used to, Yoda felt cold, sterile even; and it terrified Trav.

Yoda looked as he was going to say something else, when he was interrupted by Orun Wa striding up to them. "Master Yoda, the bulk of the clone troopers are loaded and await your command," turning to Trav, he said haughtily, "One million standard credits have been transferred to your account, bounty hunter; your services are no longer required."

Trav was more than happy to turn and walk away, and he could feel Yoda's gaze upon his back as he did so. He silently swore to himself that this would be the last time he met the jedi master. "_I will never work for the republic, never again."_

_**A/N: **Wow, that took rather longer than I expected. Writer's block sucks, don't it? The next chapter will probobly take a while, since I have semester finals approaching.__  
_


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